


Warm Welcome

by vup



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Felix | Isaac Gates Being a Dick, Felix: I lived bitch, I cant write but thats okay we have fun in trashland, canon divergence with Locus as well, don't expect it to happen fast though, no beta we die like men, some gorey-ish depictions and wounds, takes place sometime post season 13 and pre season 15, themes of redeption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vup/pseuds/vup
Summary: Felix technically survives the fall, wanting to seek revenge. Not everyone is too thrilled about his return.
Relationships: (mostly past & implied), Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez, more that I might add ! mostly the rest are background relationships though
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> New fic idea, though I'm sure some variation of this has been done before. Still wanted to give it a go. Updates will be inconsistent I'm sure, but my goal is to try to update it daily or every other day (comments do help keep me motivated wink wink ♡♡).
> 
> Also the POV will often shift just to give more context! So yeah.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix wakes back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some talk of wounds and blood this chapter, nothing too graphic though. Just a prologue here.

He was alive. 

He knew that he most definitely _shouldn't_ be alive, but by some miracle he hadn't the slightest clue of at the moment, he was alive. That isn't to say Felix wasn't grateful; for fucks sake, he was _alive_ , dammit! And that was likely the only good thing to come out of this situation. Still, he knew that fall should have killed him.

Well technically it did. His heart had stopped for a good few seconds from the collision below, marshy trees and muddy soil harshly breaking his descent. Though having once been paid in whatever alien tech the Rebels had and finding plethora of even more alien tech on the planet certainly had its benefits. While at the time he only installed it into his armor as a failsafe (a last resort type of deal) and didn't say anything on it nor thought much of it, the mercenary had gotten his hands on a mighty fine piece of alien tech. A nifty medical device system that could be installed into most armor and work alongside his life support to increase its effectiveness. Since his brain was fine, though _fine_ really just meant _not brain dead_ , and it was just his heart that had stopped from the sheer force, it was able to barely bring him back. 

Was he conscious? Not even close. Hell, it was likely a day or so he laid there with broken bones and wounds and his body in shock, barely hanging on with ragged breaths. The wet and marshy ground was at least soft underneath him, mud and water seeped into the back of his armor and it'd certainly be a topic he whined and griped to himself about later when he came to his senses. The wounds were helped only enough to have a chance of being non-fatal by the now broken life support system equipped in most armor. And the alien tech as well, though it seemed to have fizzled out too in the desperate attempt to keep him alive.

So technically, yes he died. But technically, he was still alive. 

When he did come to consciousness, he could barely hear and see some creatures curious of the seemingly corpse on the ground, scavengers looking for their next meal. Felix was too out of it to remember what happened or where he was, though that was likely a good thing. In his disorientated and injured state, the thought of it all would likely drive him to do something incredibly stupid and impulsive and wind up actually dead. Well, more stupid and impulsive than what he usually did.

With a seething hiss that he could barely even muster, he raised his head some and looked at the sky cloaked behind marshy trees, clouds overcasting the horizon. The motion was enough to send the animals scattering, which snapped his attention back to the moment, however wavering that attention was. Felix knew he needed to attempt getting up.

A taste not dissimilar to iron, _blood_ he vaguely reckoned, clung to the back of his throat. A vile and acidic taste. He panted as an agonizing groan surfaced in his throat, chest heaving and aching while he sat up. Pulling himself backwards with his arms until his back rested wearily against the trunk of a tree, Felix slacked with legs stretched out still in front of him, still oblivious to the previous events that led him to be writhing in mud and injured. Then he realised in terror he couldn't feel his legs. 

Bending his knees barely and flexing his foot for a second, it was clear he could still move his legs. Even if it was just barely for now. 

He took off his helmet with a shaky and weak grip, arms dropping to his lap along with it. The fresher air not filtered through the helmet felt cool and nice in his lungs and he was able to properly see the surrounding nature. Half the visor had been caked over with mud and the other half mostly cracked. Taking in a deep and drawn out breath of relief, he ignored the burning sensation he felt while doing so. The air felt cooling a few seconds after anyways.

It all hurt like a bitch, but from what he could tell, every limb seemed still attached and able to be maneuvered about. Then again, he wasn't exactly examining over himself either. That didn't matter though.

Although he had just woken and was unable to get a good look at his wounds, to assess the damage, his eyelids abruptly felt heavy again. Being inevitable, Felix passed right back out again, propped up against the tree. He faded in and out of consciousness, the tree providing him patchy shelter from an all too common rainstorm. Chorus and its damn storms.

Eventually he woke up yet again, feeling rain water _pitter-patter_ onto the surface of the leaves and ricochet their way down, one tapping him on the nose. Droplets grazed over his face, tracing down his forehead and cheeks, pooling at his jawline and dropping at his chin. It felt good. And he could see some crimson as he raised a throbbing hand to wipe his face. At least the rain was washing some of the scrapes and cuts he had acquired on his face. He could feel immediately as he touched a good few bruises that had formed, due to a sharp pain suddenly making itself known in a few elevated spots, welling up to an unsightly purple color. 

This go around of being awake seemed more fruitful, his semi-conscious state bleeding into a more conscious state. He was still disoriented, but that was to be expected with the damage he sustained. With more awareness of his state, a lot of pain finally registered in his brain, Felix nearly crying out as he didn't dare move for a good ten minutes. His mouth felt dry and acidic and he was dehydrated. Just sitting there and waiting to die wasn't an option.

As he leaned his arms out and cupped his hands under a steady stream at the edge of the canopy provided by the tree, he collected what he could in dirt covered palms and brought it to his mouth. Swallowing it down felt painful, as well tasted reminiscent of iron and mud. Despite this and the jolting pain coursing through him, he repeated this, knowing one thing: he needed to be hydrated. 

As he repeated his slow and painful action of collecting rainwater in his palms, Felix tried to guess all that was wrong based on where jolts of pain originated. Some ribs were likely bruised _at best_ , as well his right ankle and left wrist in particular was a bitch to move. Recognized also were some gashes slashing through his armor here and many bruises forming there. He was thankful he hadn't hit his head on the way down, knowing that would've done him in for good, but still such a tumble would leave most anyone's brain scrambled anyways. It wasn't much to go off of he realised; quite a bit was hurting and pain overlapped, not allowing him much else insight on his own injuries sustained.

He figured he could take a breather for a few minutes and hobble his way back to Locus at one of their outposts; then they could finish this mission fucking _finally_. It had only been a few hours since he fell right? Locus had to be looking for him as well, surely. 

_Wait_... _Locus..._

Blinking, Felix froze as the memory of what happened came rushing back. It felt like a slap to the face. 

"Oh that motherfu-" A sharp pain in his chest collided with his rasped words, soliciting a few following pained coughs through gritted teeth for a few seconds. "Motherfucker…!"

Locus had _betrayed_ him. Had _helped_ those bastards, the Reds and Blues. He let out a mix of a sound of pain and one of bitter, anger filled lamenting. It was better he had been blissfully unaware, now he was wracked with anger and humiliation. The sharp aches certainly weren't helping his mood either. 

The mercenary wanted to make them suffer, to experience this pain. The only thing that kept him from ripping himself from the ground and barreling to find them in this state right now was his mind formulating all different entertaining and soothing ways to kill those sons of bitches. All of them, except...

Amazingly enough, not Locus though. Maybe put him in pain, beat him into a pulp (though he knew physically Locus could and would beat him easily), but murder him? He'd have to think on that.

It was irritating that he was allowing years spent together to keep him from wanting to outright kill the bastard. As well a small part of him couldn't blame his partner, well he furiously supposed ex-partner, for doing what he did. It still stung. Maybe once there had also been more of a relationship between them, rather than the mess that Felix mostly manipulated to keep existing by the later events of Chorus. Never did they get along, at least at surface level, but earlier on before Chorus, years previousing the present, it may have been much better. There may have been something not so bitter and hallow left by the end of their failed mission. He couldn't remember it well enough at the time and he found himself brushing it off. Felix didn't care about that prick! He didn't. Well,he told himself he didn't nor ever really did. Just worked together nicely. Yeah.

Oh but yes, Felix was pissed. At the failure of the mission, at the Reds and Blues, and _damn right_ at Locus. 

Rather than rush out though, he sat and tried to decide what to do next, this reprieve also doubling as a moment to recuperate and gather his strength. He knew he needed medical assistance, but also knew nobody on Chorus would even be caught dead helping him and it was unlikely he'd be able to get a ship or catch a ride to go elsewhere. Stealing or hitching a ride unknowingly to whoever was on board was always an option. Risky, but an option. And maybe he could just find some basic medical supplies and take care of himself on his own the best he could? Some pain killers would be lovely as well right about now. And maybe after a bit of down time, hunt down the Reds and Blues. Oh yes, he definitely tacked that onto his mental messy to-do list. Killing them would just be for revenge purposes, no monetary gain, but the _thought alone_ brought him comfort. 

Planning aside, he didn't know if he was actually able to stand at the moment, struggling just to not squirm in pain.

_Well, only one way to find out…_

Hiss rising from his chest, Felix trembled as he pulled himself to his feet, leaning against the coarse bark for support. His knees wobbled, threatening to give out beneath him. That wouldn't be allowed though. Well, it came to his attention that it was possible to stand. Now walking. He dragged his foot forward, taking a step, before the other foot limped behind him. Shooting pains were felt throughout the nerves in his legs with each begrudgingly taken step, him pressing on despite it. Oh, he was not going to die and be left to rot out here if he had any say in it. If anything, the spite and need for revenge he held kept him going. 

Having no idea of which direction to head off in, he kept limping through marshy land and nearly tripping over winding unearthed roots and vegetation blanketing the ground. At some point he then noticed how cold and wet he was, a shiver traveling up his aching spine at the sensation under his armor. To his displeasure, he knew then some of his armor must have broken as he fell. A cherry ontop of this shit sundae.

"Oh, because i-it couldn't get worse huh?" He scowled to himself with a bittersweet mix of a huff and a weak chuckle, though quickly shut himself up.

Only the pain that accompanied talking kept him from jabbering on to himself in anguish for more than that single sentence. 


	2. Outpost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix finds an abandoned outpost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in specific for some graphic wound descriptions and in specific needles! Feel free to skip to the end for a small summary as I know this chapter is kinda gorey.

It goes without saying that when trudging through seemingly endless marsh and overgrown forest floors, broken helmet in hand and a fun variety of wounds decorating your body, you wouldn't have an exactly easy or pleasant experience.

Felix knew he was leaving a trail of blood from wounds that had scabbed weakly over reopening from his sluggish march, he could feel the warm red liquid seeping down his torso and legs, mixing with water. But he just _didn't care_. The blood loss didn't seem enough to be fatal for now thankfully, but he knew those wounds could potentially be if he didn't do _something_ about them soon. How long had it even been for them to have barely scabbed over? 

_Tsk_ ing at himself, which was the most he really could muster for the time being, the bitter mercenary walked on. He didn't know how long he had walked, but he felt dizzy and those sharp pains had morphed into dull and numb aches from all the stress on his body. 

Eventually he reached some abandoned outpost, plants having overgrown parts of the wall. Well, beggars can't be choosers. Stumbling into the inner walls of the base, he saw his boots left a faint wet and reddish footprint with each step against the metal flooring. Watered down blood and dirt. It just reminded him of the glaring issue of his wounds, scrambling shakily to find some sort of first aid kit or medical bay. It was a small outpost, but he expected there to be _something_. And there was; Felix had become more out of it again by then, unsure if it took five minutes or fifty to find a first aid kit along with some other basic medical supplies in a few drawers at a counter. 

He was no medic or doctor, nor would his shaky hands and unsteady vision help him any, but he had to do something otherwise this would be the death of him. 

Leaning against a counter, he surveyed the room for a few moments in an attempt to ease him by gaining a better visual of where he was. It was some sort of medical bay. _Perfect_. He flicked on the light to the room, it flickering to life so he had more than just the light filtering in through the window to utilize. Beginning to strip his armor off, it took a good while to do so. Either way, eventually mud, blood, and water covered armor all clattered to the floor. It left just his black bodysuit that stuck uncomfortably tight to his skin due to the water and blood seeping into it.

He let out a few grumbles to himself, leaning more against the counter for a few seconds as he took a break in stripping down. Nobody was around and either way, he didn't have the luxury of caring if people happened to see him in his underwear. 

_I look damn good anyways._ He tried to find some humor in this.

After his moment of collecting himself again, Felix reached slowly and unzipped the bodysuit, peeling it off his skin. Underneath he definitely saw a few gashes and many bruises. A clear outline of his ribs were colored a reddish-brownish-purpleish into his abdomen and chest, the outside of his forearm on his left had a nasty scrape dug into his skin running up from his wrist to his elbow, and his trembling legs weren't dissimilar.

Okay, _okay_. He could handle this. Rummaging back in the drawers, he dug out a cloth and felt for the sink off to the side. After dampening it, he figured he'd work face down. Staggering to the mirror perched on the wall at the end of the bed, he cringed internally at the ghastly sight of himself. 

_Okay maybe not_ so _damn good right now._

With an evening sigh, he raised the cloth to his face and wiped any grime off. There were only bruises and a few shallow scrapes there, meaning he could simply wipe and let it be to heal. He moved down to his collarbone and shoulders, starting to pick up some of the mud off of him. Further he cleaned, regularly having to rinse the mud and blood out of the cloth. 

He reached the gash on his arm and swallowed hard; he needed to run it under water. Retreating back to the sink, Felix settled his arm into the sink. Hesitantly, he reached for the faucet handle, turning it on and immediately squirming as cool water crashed with the gash. It flushed dirt and grime and crusted blood from the cut. A few curses slipped from his lips as he watched the mud and blood flow to the drain. Examining it, he realised it was too deep to just bandage. A dull whine surfaced in his throat as he turned off the water and thought about it.

Feeling haphazardly for the kit, his hand weakly swatted over it to get a grip, before sliding it over to him and popping open the container. Disinfectant would be good right? Right. He found only a bottle of rubbing alcohol, turning it contemplatively over in his hands. Oh he was going to maim those fuckers who landed him in this situation. 

Gritting his teeth and sucking it up, he unscrewed the cap and tossed it to the side. His hand gripped the bottle and his other hand settled into the sink with his wounded arm. Figuring it'd be better to just go with the 'rip the bandaid off' method, Felix poured some of it over the wound and writhed, biting harshly into his lip as he waited for it to subside. Rinsing it again with water, he moved onto the even more daunting task; he picked up the medical needle and thread and fed the thread through, tying off the end with an aching hand.

Setting his arm against the counter, he lined up the needle with the edge of the wound and felt dizzy as he pushed the needle through both plateaus of the messy opening. His lungs rushed with panicked pants and he had to pause mid first stitch, but knew the needle just stuck through inflamed flesh wouldn't do anything good for him. So he continued to press until it went fully through. He didn't know how the hell to properly sew it, so he just looped it back around to begin pressing through the same side again. He repeated this motion, before finally finishing and wrapping it taunt with bandages, taping off the end. Good enough. It was over, for a moment finding comfort, before he remembered the rest of his body. 

"Fucking hell..." He practically sobbed, voice tired and bitter. 

It took about an hour for him to get everything done, drinking down some water from the faucet in the sink and taking some of whatever painkillers and preventative antibiotics he could find afterwards. His body was bandaged up in the places it needed to be, the rest covered in bruises. He had compressed and wrapped anywhere that had swelled, figuring it might be sprained or something could have been broken. Collapsing onto the bed in the medical bay, he didn't even bother with the blanket nor cared that he laid the wrong way on the bed with the pillow at his feet. 

_Everything hurt_ and he wanted to sleep. It only took seconds, despite the pain killers having yet to kick in, for him to fall asleep. Food wasn't even a concern at that moment, all he cared about was sleep and hoping he wasn't internally bleeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Felix stumbles into an abandoned outpost and patches himself up, before crashing in a bed in the medical bay. He's all kinds of hurt, this chapter was mostly to emphasize that he really flirted with death there.


	3. Locus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locus just goes in a complete circle while on a journey to make up for his deeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot. Locus chapter for exposition and set up. :^)

Finding an alien spaceship, some credits, and rations, then snagging it all when you have an invisibility unit in your armor was easy enough, especially with everyone distracted and celebrating. Celebrating Felix and his' defeat. Felix's death. It surely stung, but Locus wasn't going to dwell on it.

Mission: _get out of Chorus_. He knew he needed to get out of that mindset though.

And he did get out. Initially he went to a far off city planet for a few days of rest, not talking with anyone and just _digesting_ the events that came to pass in a small hotel room that smelled of cleaning chemicals. It felt odd being out of his armor, it left in his ship as to not attract attention to himself as he just wore the only regular change of clothes he had. His mind being logical, he grabbed a complementary pen and notepad sitting on the bedside stand and scribbled down numbered bullet points of what happened to keep his thoughts collected.

He usually had a virtual journal. It was gone now though.

1) All the years of work put into Chorus and the civil war between the Feds and New Republic was ruined.

Not even just by the Reds and Blues, not even just by him and Felix underestimating them or Felix's incessant monologues that was basically a _'see? I'm better than you.'_ more than anything. No, he had given up on that mission as well, though really it had fallen apart and had become Felix looking for vengeance. Locus knew him standing down and not helping Felix wasn't near what needed to be done for redemption for what he had done, but it was a start to change. Rolling the pen between his fingers, he remembered how he fixated on that Agent Washington and studied him. His choices. Where he had seen weakness, he now saw strength, even if he didn't fully understand it yet. He could still do the same and reform right? 

2) Felix had manipulated him (or at minimum enabled his unhealthy mechanisms and mindset), at least during their time on Chorus. 

Part of him had always been conscious of it, but was too emotionally detached to acknowledge it nor care. His post traumatic stress was so _easily_ taken advantage of and the thought of it made his stomach turn over uneasily. In the beginning it was different. He remembered earlier, near their bounty hunting days, him and Felix treated each other in a way that came off more as _'old married couple who bicker a lot at surface level, but care',_ instead of what it had morphed into after a while.

That talkative man _used_ to want to do good even if he still wasn't the best person even then. Sure he was an asshole and talked endlessly, but he was far less conniving and had far less bloodlust, he wasn't the sadistic killer he had become. Felix hadn't only been in it for the slaughter and the cash. Or maybe he always was just that and just didn't know it, was more subtle with it. Locus knew every single bit of his ex-partner at that time though, so missing those signs would've been odd for him.

 _He has always been accustomed to verbal manipulation._ The remind to himself tasted like bitter day-old coffee in the back of his throat.

The answer that Felix was just always so...Felix didn't sit right with him, but left it at that for now to dissect later.

Even Locus knew himself was never a perfect, get a gold sticker, give your new neighbors a pie kind of guy. And he knew that. He knew that even _himself_ had become warped and desires to spill blood, to just get lost in becoming a weapon. He still instinctually held that desire, knowing it'd take some work to distance from that mentality. He quickly put that thought off to the side for later, feeling uneasy and like he treaded too far down that mental path; the ex-mercenary wanted to unpack his feelings of course, but wanted to take baby steps. 

He wrote down a three, but paused. When he tried to pry more points from his brain, he came up empty handed and only circled back to the first two points, just worded differently. Well, it had been some progress and he wasn't going to force it. Scribbling the number out, he tossed the notepad to the side and got ready to simply sleep

After a day or few resting and processing things at that hotel, trying to figure out how to make up for his past mistakes of being such a monster, he set back out. While he wasn't near being all sorted out, he was making a start. Locus also knew he couldn't hide there forever, knowing he was on the run technically. Damn was he grateful the Reds and Blues had stopped them. He had to wonder how Felix even survived all the rubble and debris falling on them and was fit enough to drag _him,_ the stronger and more durable one, to a ship and fly it, when himself was incapacitated for a good while. 

He spent a few weeks, inbetween two and three, just traveling in the small, but useful ship, A'rynasea. Uncertain of what else to do or even where else to go, he just followed wherever he saw trouble. He wasn't in it for money or anything when helping these people, no, just trying to set things right in the universe for himself.

Currently, an increasingly large part of him was regretting it _deeply._ After so long of pretending to feel nothing, he must've let emotions get the best of him and rushed in to help. One distressed call led to another thing and before Locus knew it, he was being chased down by some random thugs with a few stolen ships. The blue interface had a variety of red _WARNING_ 's littered on it; various parts of the ship critically damaged from firing of the vessels trailing him. The ship was practically begging him to do some sort of defensive maneuver and shoot at the ships behind him, but he wanted to avoid killing so denied it.

His own ship wasn't doing so hot though and more warnings pestered him on the light screens as Locus was trying to maneuver out of range, but these pesky ships that had followed him, even through beyond light speed travel, managed to still yet accompany him in a _tango of death_. They were unrelenting. A dry chuckle nearly surfaced in his throat at the thought, though got stuck and only came out as a huff. 

A particularly disastrous hit to a rear thruster made the interface fade to a red color, flashing in his vision repeatedly much to his annoyance. His hands shot over to a panel to search for the nearest planet to try to escape onto, preferably without crashing. _Chorus._ Fuck, had he really traveled all the way back there and not noticed? Fine. _Fine._ He figured one of the moons would do just fine.

Gripping his hands into fists in his lap, he felt an unease form in the pit of his stomach as he ordered the ship to quickly change course to the moon. Supposedly the moons were uninhabited by people, from what he heard; he should be fine to land on one. Yeah? _Yeah._ Still didn't like being so close to Chorus itself though.

Oddly enough, the ships had pulled away as Locus drew closer to one of the moons as fast as the ship could go, which put strain on the already failing engines. As he approached the atmosphere and he could more easily see what was on the land, he spotted some structures in the distance. Oh had he been wrong? Were there people living on here now? He was too distracted by that to realise the ship struggled to keep itself stable and from crashing. Before he knew it, snapping back from his wandering thoughts, Locus was scrambling to manually try and make the landing, no, _the crash_ more smooth. 

Bracing for impact and grateful that he at least had his armor on, he quickly came to regret his decisions to follow that distress signal. It felt almost darkly humorous. 


	4. Rations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix settles in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hella short chapter, they'll eventually become longer, but for now when going back and forth it may be a bit shorter. This one in particular is just some needed set up that would feel off if I added more to it, so it's on its own.

When Felix woke again, the only light he could make out glared down at him in flickering judgement; the ceiling light. Otherwise it was dark outside in comparison to the muggy high noon when he got to the outpost. He didn't know how long he slept, but the painkillers hadn't worn off yet, as instead of sharp pains he was met with dull aches when he shifted his hips to be more comfortable. He guessed just until night time. 

He felt weird being in just under garments and bandages, having been practically mummified, or at least that's that it felt like with how he hastily wrapped his injuries. Sitting up very slowly and agonisingly, he rested his back against the wall the bed was snug up against. He looked over his arms and legs and wherever else to make sure everything was still intact. Well, he didn't see anything bleeding through the gauze. 

"That's a good thing, right?" He muttered to himself, contemplatively licking over his now scabbed over bottom lip.

It hurt less to speak too, so damn right he was going to speak, even if it fell only upon his own ears. He had almost forgotten how to carry himself when alone, having spent so long surrounded by various soldiers fighting for various things. Usually he chattered on and was a persuasive person, but being left with his own thoughts to entertain him felt weird. Wrong. He felt he needed to speak.

With a sigh, he clumsily scooted himself to the edge of the bed and planted his feet against the cold ground, mustering some strength in order to stand. Not like anyone would be catering to his needs, so...

"Just...need to find some sort of clothes or something. Fuck..." He sucked in a breath as the low curse left his mouth, clutching his chest for a second until the pain from his sudden movements subsided.

Pulling the blanket wearily over his shoulders to try and block out the chill of the room, he stood and limped out of the medical bay. Flicking on lights as he walked, he made his way down a hallway comprised of many locked doors and dust covered metal floors. He had to wonder if this was a Federal or New Republic base before. If it was New Republic, he didn't remember it.

Finally he spotted a room with a broken sliding door left open. Most everything was either taken when the last residents left or scavenged already. The bunks were mostly unkempt, aside from a few neatly made still, blankets and pillows strewn about. A quick glance to a pinboard left weakly hanging to the wall answered his inquiries, a Federal logo pinned to it. This Federal outpost had seemingly been abandoned for a while, maybe at the beginning of the. Felix didn't think they were worrying about reclaiming this old ass outposts at the moment. 

The room itself was cluttered and two of the tiles to the roof in the corner were threatening to fall in. It was filled with bunks and various scattered papers adorning the floor and a few boxes left inside. He walked further, blanket snug around his shoulders trailing behind him. Opening a box that was at the foot of one of the bunks, he saw mostly some personal belongings. He huffed and swatted the flap on the box back closed. Nothing useful. 

He opened another box and found some rations sealed still in it, along with a few old shipment order papers taped to the inside of the flap. It just made him aware of his hunger that had set in. Well, that was useful. 

"Well _hello_ there." A gratefully smug smile curled at the left corner of his lips, picking up and turning over one of the MREs in his hand to look it over. He tossed it back into the container and put a metaphorical pin in that.

Taking a mental note of it to come back to it in a bit, he rummaged through a few other boxes, mostly just personal belongings and rations. And a few weapons, if an empty pistol and a dull knife could be considered that. It was something though. 

Finally in the second to last box, he found some neat and folded clothes that smelled of, unsurprisingly, dust and detergent. Some bodysuits for underneath armor too; not as good as his was, but his was also torn in multiple places and soaked in blood and mud. And that isn't exactly _ideal,_ so cheaper ones would have to do.

_Maybe I can find some Federal armor and sneak off..?_

Felix knew he was getting ahead of himself though and had to remind himself he needed to lay low here for a few days. 

There was also some regular off-duty plain clothing; he weakly grabbed and shook out the dust from a pair. Slipping on a shirt that was a bit too big for him and some pants, he felt out of breath from that alone. 

Discarding the blanket to the side, he grabbed a bodysuit that seemed to be close enough to his size and tossed it onto one of the made up beds. He grabbed a few rations and they followed suit on top of the article of clothing, before he tugged the blanket's edges from under the mattress. Collecting it all together, he held the blanket like a bag for the contents inside, stumbling his way back to the medical bay all while flicking the lights back off. He didn't know how much power this place had and he didn't really want to completely drain it when he had just gotten there. 

Reaching the medical bay, he slumped onto the bed and set the items he scavenged onto the floor beside the cot. Head at the edge of the thin mattress, he looked at the only food he had. Those MRE rations looked displeasing, but it was all he had to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	5. Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locus sure has a good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for vague implied suicidal thoughts. Not necessarily explicit or wanting suicidal thoughts, but moreso lack of caring if dead or not that you can see if you squint. It isn't too noticable, but just a warning in case you do.

The first thing Locus saw when he barely opened his eyes were wide and perky blue ones peering down at him. His eyelids were squinted, the drowsy man seeing through eyelashes criss-crossing his already limited vision. The figure looming over him, though _looming_ might not be the right word for the bubbly energy this person gave off, didn't notice him wake from his eyes still _looking_ closed and took a step back from examining him. 

"How long do you think he'll be sleeping?" That person asked off to a person he couldn't name, him immediately recognizing the sentence having Caboose's voice though. Oh. _Oh._ This was _not_ where he wanted to be and they were _not_ who he wanted to be around.

He shot up, icy eyes no longer just slits as he felt the situation a possible threat he needed to confront.

"Oh. Oh! He's awake!" The blue armored man with dark curls and a freckled face called out to a person, or group of people, off to the side. 

And before he could even turn his head to see who he was talking to, he had a pretty good hunch as to who, he instead came face to face at the ends of guns and gazed down the barrels. And an energy sword, because that's what Locus just _loved_ to wake up to being threatened with. One gun drew closer and pointed squarely at his chest, trying to intimidate him with threatening his life at the end of a rifle. His eyes flickered down to it, then to the side. Honestly, Locus found himself not too worried about being pointed at with lethal weapons. 

"What are you doing here?" The voice that belonged to the man pressing the gun closer demanded. His gaze traveled warily up to the source of the question. Washington. He always did do his part in fiercely protecting the ragtag gang of idiots.

"I...crashed here." Locus responded a bit dumbfounded, his temples throbbing with a headache. He paused and realised what the ex-freelancer had meant. "I was running from some ships, I wasn't paying attention and accidentally ended up here." 

Was his voice different? And...he wasn't looking through displays? His hand felt over his throat, expecting the mesh of his armor, only to feel skin. Lower at his collarbone he felt a soft cotton shirt or tanktop, some piece of clothing, it didn't matter. Oh but they had taken his armor off him. It felt uncomfortable to be without it around them when he had kept such a menacing persona with it earlier; plus it was like a second skin to the broad figure and he began to feel all too vulnerable. His legs shifted tentatively, in unison the others in the room shifting on their heels uneasily at the movement, fingers trembling as they grazed loosely over the triggers on impulse. It looked as if they were going to shoot if he moved too harshly.

Something told him that persona they saw on Chorus still stood very strong in their minds.

"What the hell were you doing running from ships?" A voice scoffed and gave a single laugh in disbelief. Ah, Tucker. The blue team member who, if he recalled correctly, Felix had focused much of his ill will onto. His, he had to remind himself, _deceased_ partner had rambled once or twice about this individual in particular.

He remembered when doing reconnaissance on the group at the crash site, he would watch from one of the ledges he usually perched on as Washington tried to push Tucker to train and do better. He also remembered him thinking Washington alternated being either too soft or too harsh on his teammates as the unspokenly self claimed leader, but the gun jabbing at his chest pressing further against him snapped him from his straying thoughts.

"Well?"

"I picked up a distress signal on a planet. I investigated and got more involved than I should have." He felt weak saying that, but dipped his head ever so slightly to match his words. That chilled and heavy expression remained in his by nature furrowed brow and calculating gaze. Locus wanted to make it clear he wasn't here for a fight though, so he didn't make any moves.

The weapon receded from his chest, though the row of them still remained understandably pointed at him. He couldn't blame them for their distrust.

"Mhm, sure. And how do we know you're not lying? That you're here to finish off the job for yourself? Tie off loose ends?" He didn't pay attention to who said that, it didn't matter.

"You don't," Locus stated back, keeping his voice that habitually erie deep tone; it sounded off without the extra bass the filter gave, but his voice still had a similar fear instilling effect. And they didn't know if he was lying or not. Locus knew personally that himself wasn't evading the truth, but he figured there was no use in trying to prove that with words. Felix was the one good at that anyways.

Okay, _and_ he also figured that maybe his ' _you don't'_ came off a bit too intimidating or gave the wrong message, as he quickly felt another cool pressure at his chest, closer to his throat this time.

At the sight of Sarge's shotgun drawing in closer, his guess was confirmed and he quickly said (in an attempt to soothe tensions) before Sarge could bark out anything,"I'm not here to do that though." 

_What? Is the energy sword next?_

"You took quite a tumble! We found you and your ship _aaaall_ the way over on the far side of the valley! I thought you were gonna sleep _forever._ " The out of place voice of Caboose standing at the foot of his bed quickly introjected before any more interrogative questions could be thrown his way. He didn't have his gun, Freckles, raised and aimed at him, though Locus thought he probably should given the situation. He was grateful nonetheless to have one less deadly instrument pointed at him at least. Plus, the comment was a slight relief in the tenuous atmosphere. 

He delivered a small acknowledging hum to Caboose's comment and he ignored the implied morbid suspicion the childish man had expressed feeling.

Nothing seemed broken as he took a look over his toned arms, just sore, a few small scrapes, and his mind a bit scrambled from the crash. Nothing that couldn't heal within a day or so. Eyes traveling about the immediate area, he saw Tucker, Washington, Caboose, and Sarge was just in the room. The rest must be outside, perhaps eavesdropping. If it weren't for the dull ringing in his ears, temporarily present he hoped from the crash, he knew he might've been able to hear their chatter.

He watched as the energy sword in Tucker's hand hesitantly lowered and deactivated after a few more moments of silence between the five of them, then the others followed suit seeing there was no threat. No armor, no weapons; Locus was physically and metaphorically cornered. It didn't make him feel anymore eased still, the guns and energy sword weren't a huge source of concern in the first place.

"Let me repair my ship and I'll be out of your way," he offered abruptly with a gruff clearing of his throat after a bout of uncomfortable silence, which was met with a sharp and resounding,"Hell no!" and, "Fuck that." Various creative and vulgar disagreements to his request, to put it simply.

Furrowing his brow just a smidge, Locus swallowed hard and leaned his back against the headboard of the bed, or what he _guessed_ to be a bed, arms crossing over his chest. Before he could ask why they don't just let him go on his way, that question brewing on the tip of his tongue was given an answer.

"The people on Chorus? Kimball? They're looking for you," Washington cut in. Ah, made sense they'd want to dispose of him to officials on Chorus. 

"Then why haven't you delivered me into their custody yet?" He replied, a disdain almost noticeable in his tone, but he made sure to keep it hidden. Usually he had only let himself feel apathy, but it was clear to himself that he had been starting to work on letting other emotions take root sometimes. Although, he had always been a methodical, brooding type regardless of PTSD and manipulation caused emotional repression.

There was a silence, one of embarrassment with undertones of amusement laced in it. It only made him curious. 

"It got blown up." 

_It got blown up._ Locus found it amusing that he wasn't surprised by that answer.

"It was for an experiment! Some science doo-hickey weapon me and Simmons whipped up to fend off any no-do-gooders and fiends! Tested it on the ship we had and it blew up. Along with the communication tower. And the warthog." The southern drawling voice explained further. 

_Jesus christ_. Locus had to physically hold in a sigh, _desperately_ wanting to exhale in exasperation as a few disciplining scowls were exchanged between the group and Sarge (which all went unlistened to by the ex-merc), but decided against it. 

_Is this how Felix felt when he was wanting to talk?_

"So I'm going to be kept prisoner on here until it's fixed then?" Locus felt more irked than uneasy by now. They wanted to turn him in, which he also didn't blame them for, but had no way of doing so nor really a plan it seemed. It was _impractical_ and sounded like it'd just waste all of their times. Then again, he had learned the hard way to never underestimate these people and decided not to question their methods.

"Something like that." Sarge huffed back.

Locus also felt a small urge to roll his eyes or scoff, but that was easy to avoid, maintaining his chilling demeanor otherwise with ease. It had become a part of his personal mission to avoid _starting_ the conflict anyways. He looked over at the mirror poised on the wall of the room he still was uncertain as to its purpose, feeling weary seeing himself out of his armor. Physically he looked fine, aside from what he could see and feel, a scrape on his right knuckle and something on the bridge of his nose and forehead each covered by a colorful blue bandaid. Probably Caboose's doing. 

But seeing his own face, that X shaped scar crossing over his features, felt unreal. _He_ felt unreal. _None_ of this felt real. Usually he didn't look at himself, just passed by mirrors without even a single glance or was in his armor. He hid that discomfort from them, but didn't deny it to himself and would work it out later. Locus was _trying_ to work on habits like that after all. 

"What have you even been _doing_ these past few weeks?" Washington asked, seeming to not be so on guard anymore as he saw his companions were less on edge. 

Locus instinctually disliked that he wasn't keeping them on edge, but consciously told himself that it was better this way. 

"Dude, probably off killing and doing bad shit for money," Tucker tutted to the side, which earned a slight jab in the arm with an elbow from Wash.

"When I said _no more killing,_ I meant it," he replied bluntly, pausing as he tried to formulate more words. Everyone seemed to shut up anyways, allowing him that time, whether on purpose or because the tone of his voice he spoke with. On accident, of course. He wasn't trying to scare them or piss them off, but he wasn't a people person. 

_How did Felix talk so easily?_

"Mostly I've traveled." He blurted out. And that was technically true. 

"So you've, what, just been taking a vacation then?" A snide remark slipped from Tucker.

"No." It came out harsher than he meant.

Locus didn't feel like divulging much at the moment, gaze drifting to the side as he pushed the blanket off of him and didn't say another word. He had woken up _tucked in_ , probably Caboose being...Caboose. Maneuvering so his legs swung over, however slow he purposely was as to not cause alarm, he saw he was wearing someone's likely spare clothes. Setting his feet against the floor, he didn't stand, remaining seated as he didn't want to push his limits with their trust in him. Which Locus suspected to be very little anyways.

"I'll keep an eye on him." Washington finally broke the silence, though spoke more quietly and to the group, leaning his back against the wall.

"Right, so we take shifts... _babysitting_ the murderous war criminal?" Tucker mused back.

"It's our best bet right now. Keep his armor and weapons away from him and we'll be fine. We can even double up. Three hours at a time."

 _Smart, Washington._ Locus pretended not to pay attention, him by nature enjoying listening in. 

"Oh oh! Can I help you with this shift?" Caboose asked, clearly not fully aware of the intent of these shifts. Washington didn't deny him though. 

"Then it's settled, I'll go let the rest know." Tucker clipped his deactivated energy sword back at his waist, walking out of the room. 

Locus remembered his own energy sword, missing it, but also felt a tingle of content that it was away from him. He had seen Felix handle it quite a bit and remembered how he loved to gloat about his new murderous toy, however impractical doing so was. But now, everytime the newest owner ignited that blue colored sword, he remembered the knowing dread that settled in for a few seconds after it had first been lit in his hand. After it signified his once partner's, what he believed to be, death. Snapping from his thoughts yet again, Locus took note he was getting lost in them quite a bit today.

"Right-io! Holler if you need any help with the bastard." And off went Sarge, shotgun all too eagerly in his hand. Locus knew what he implied by help and found himself a dry mix of apathetic and amused rather than scared by that.

Locus didn't say anything as the three sat there in the room. He could feel Washington's gaze on him, it almost a six sense by now to feel his skin prickle whenever someone's line of sight burrowed into him, even when he wasn't looking at the person. It was better than the end of a gun burrowing into his chest he half supposed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and would keep me going! ♡


	6. Restlessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix is ready.

When formulating a plan on innacting revenge against the morons who practically ripped away your delicate mission on Chorus, your _partner,_ and basically your life, you sometimes first have to take into account the fact you were beaten to a pulp and that you had no real weapons. 

Sure, words can be sickening, but rarely lethal. Then again, this was _Felix;_ if he wanted to, he could convince a planet's population to just slaughter each other. Which he had done for years, _thank you very much!_

Felix cocked a smug smile at this thought for a moment as he idly dug the dull tip of the knife, the one he had found in those boxes, into the counter as he leaned against it. He barely considered it a knife though, if anything it was a _butter knife_ with how dull it was. Water was rolling down the nape of his neck from his still dampened hair, having washed it out and over what areas of skin he could reach the best he could while leaning over in a sink. Droplets of water pooled at his chin and fell onto the counter by the gouge he had formed in it with the knife. A shower was out of the option, not wanting to risk slipping and reopening the wounds he had sat through and sewn himself. 

Further scratching a dip into the faux wooden surface, his gaze remained on the water droplets dripping from the faucet next to him. Stray water left over from his cleaning, just splashing into a small puddle formed in the sink. _Fucking annoying._

Ignoring the pain that shot up his arm when using the needed force to do so, he stabbed the knife with a sharp jab into the countertop just enough so it stood on its own, then limped back to curl into the bed he had practically nested in those past few days. All things considered though, he was doing pretty well.

It had been, what, a week or so since he had crawled his way to the outpost? Yeah, something like that. Things seemed to be healing without much trouble and he was able to walk with only a bit more noticeable ease than previously. This infuriated him as he needed to _not_ be limping for his concocted plan. Said plan was basically just to put on some of the old Fed armor, hope that some soldiers initially belonging to the Federal army still wore it, and sneak his way to a docking bay to get a ship.

Overhearing some info on the Reds and Blues' whereabouts would be great too. But a noticeable limp might as well be painting him as a target of suspicion. The last thing he wanted was to be approached and asked if he was fine, which could segway into asking to identify himself or being found out in an infirmary. Though they hadn't seen his face right? And a _lie_ was easy enough, but he decided that avoiding the confrontation in general was ideal.

It was strange to himself even, usually he was more impulsive and would have already gotten a ship, or been captured trying to get one. Locus had been the voice of reason, methodical nature balancing his own impulsivity. Felix figured he wasn't just rushing into it due to the fact his brain would come up with to-the-point remarks Locus would make as responses to him thinking out loud when he was formulating that idea due to the huge lack of Locus. He kept thinking about what _Locus_ would do. _Boring shit probably._

And the aching of his injuries certainly held him back as well, of course.

"I must be losing it," he chuckled out dryly as he rolled onto his back, though the joking demeanour didn't help his perpetually dampened mood. If anything, the injured man was just looking for something to fill the uncomfortable silence. Usually he'd hear an grunt of acknowledgement or something simple like a _"Must be."_ repeated back from Locus with just enough sarcasm to be recognized underneath that cold voice, hell, even just his knowing stare was loud to Felix in of its own. 

"He's likely living it up on some beach planet," he scoffed, though knew that was more so something _himself_ would enjoy right now rather than Locus. Still made him jealous. And made him feel a feeling he wasn't quite used to nor could he put a name to it.

During his stay at the outpost, he had been continually either pained, pissed off, or both. What was there to be cheery about? He'd rather whine and brood about it to himself. Ranting to someone would be even better. 

Rain started to pour outside, irking the already aggravated man as he had just moved from the sink to get away from the noise created by incessant water droplets. He didn't know if it bothered him because it rained _so fucking much_ on this _stupid fucking_ planet or if it was because he had a headache constantly. Probably both. Unsurprisingly, anything other than his own voice set his ears ringing. He also had trouble remembering certain things, guessing from his brain being rattled. As well he sometimes became dizzy at random even when just laying down, but completely ignored it. To put it simply, this also wasn't really his idea of a good Saturday afternoon. _Or is it Sunday?_ He lost track.

Brushing off the jumbled thoughts, Felix felt an increasing sense of frustration brew in the pit of his stomach and a knot of restlessness form in his throat. He sat up and shifted, discontented to just be sitting around even if his wounds weren't fully healed. He _needed_ to scream, to slash, to shoot. But there was nothing he could do so at or even with. Hand raking back his still damp hair, an uneven exhale grazed his lips. 

"Fine! Fine. The sooner I get off this planet, the better." Finally he was throwing in the towel, standing and walking out of the medical bay he had cozied up in. 

He'd go through with his plan already.

Part of him wished he wasn't so impatient, the other louder part just wanted to haul ass. His mind wasn't in the best place and Felix was letting his anger get in the way of actually thinking it through, mental manifestations of what Locus would say be damned. He lacked any caring towards being worse for wear, lacked any patience to just sit and wait. In his mind, it was better to die of a gunshot over this boredom. 

A limp was able to be hidden anyways. 

Rummaging about the armory located near the end of the hallway, which he had managed to find the keycards to earlier that day, he looked through already popped open crates strewn about the room. Slim pickings was all he was left with; barely any ammo and only two rifles that had a few bullets in them, plus only one set of armor caked in dust. Seemed they had managed to pack or use up many of their weapons, much to his disappointment. This would have to do. Felix dragged the armor and any ammo he found back to the room he had mentally claimed during his time squatting there. 

Slipping on the bodysuit, he was grateful for it being not incredibly skin tight as it sat on top of any bandages. He tugged his arms through the sleeves and zipped it up, crease in his brow as he had to maneuver about his limbs to tug it on. Although, the sharp pains at each movement had started to become more tolerable, or maybe he had just grown more used to it. Or perhaps it was the pain medication he was downing. 

He gave a glance to his own armor, pausing as he went to grab the Federal issued set he had haphazardly shook the dust from and tossed on the bed. It had sat mud and blood crusted, untouched aside from him kicking it to the corner. What was he supposed to do with it? It was busted and he required tools to fix it. And he didn't _have_ those tools, let alone the knowledge likely needed on armor repair for that. As well bringing it with him was off the table. Just waltzing about with that armor in a bag and for some reason getting caught with it was a sure way of being captured. No way.

"It'll be okay here. I'll just put it away in some room so nothing gets to it? This place is _deserted_ anyways, it'll be here later when I can get it back. Yeah.." He trailed, feeling odd just rambling with no person to be a target of his sentences. Moreover something in the form of a memory of being outted to the galaxy told him that he might as well ditch it here lest he wants to be spotted and captured elsewhere. "And... you're talking to yourself, Felix."

His voice was a bit hoarse and much quieter, his usual charm dulled down to a lingering undertone. Surely if he had to speak, his voice would sound different enough with a bit of a comfortable pitch shift to be noticed as him. And from what he saw in the mirror, he had grown a bit thinner already. While in hindsight that was not a good thing, for the sake of escape, it was favorable as his body type maybe would look different.

"How do I travel there though?" He almost whispered to himself as he sluggishly tugged on the torso armor, catching as a half-effort mumble at his tongue and barely breaching his lips. 

Sucking in a pained breath as he felt the arm piece of the armor clamp to him, he just put a pin in that thought. Either he'd find something here able to be driven or he'd fucking _walk_ there. It couldn't be too far right? Felix was going stir crazy just sitting in that dustbin of an outpost so if he had to limp his stubborn crazy ass there, then so be it. 

Holding the helmet in the crook of his elbow, he pulled the dull military knife from the cut he had stabbed into the countertop when his temper was boiling over. He considered it pretty useless, but decided to bring it along anyways. 

_A momento for this shit show_ , he thought as he turned it over in between his fingers, before sliding it into a slot at his waist. Picking up what ammo he could scavenge, he stuffed it into a storage pouch near that knife and snatched up the assault rifle laying on his bed. It was enough to get off Chorus and keep him protected until he had some proper good gear again. 

Finally, he was ready. Okay maybe _ready_ was far from the truth, but in his head, Felix believed himself to be ready enough. It couldn't be too difficult right? _Right._

He trudged out of the medical bay, armor feeling heavy on his body and weighing him down with each step. It was just the damn injuries that made it feel like that. 

Felix ignored it and stepped down the concrete steps, hand gripping the rusted support bar to the side. He felt weak, useless, _aggrivated_ . How was he going to enact revenge like _this_ ? He knew he just needed to get off the planet and wait, collect some needed materials and track them down. Locus was out of the question though, he knew that only if _Locus_ wanted to see him again, he'd come looking for him. Otherwise, he was superb at evading and remaining unseen, so there was no use in looking for the asshole. 

He carried on across the small complex, noticing the rain had died down for the moment. His steps left an imprinted trail in the mud. 

Approaching where he suspected to be a garage of sorts, he pressed on the button by the large door. It rolled up slowly, creaking. And inside, he found...nothing. 

"Why am I not surprised?" He tutted, wringing his hand on the back of his neck. 

On foot it was then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated! ♡


	7. Integrating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locus settles in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update this for a week or two if there's anyone who actually keeps up with this! This chapter is kinda basic, but long. Enjoy.

"Why'd you do it?" The question felt like a bucket of ice being dumped over his head.

Locus shifted uncomfortably as he sat at the edge of the bed. It had been an hour or so of being watched and he had been rummaging through a bag of his belongings that was stashed away in the ship and survived the crash, it now resting at his side on the mattress. Well, _most_ of his belongings anyways. Anything that could prove lethal was taken and the rest salvaged was just returned to him. Then again, this was _Locus._ Not all of them wore armor constantly, seeing as this was supposed to be retirement, and he could probably be lethal with a piece of paper if he tried.

"Do what?" He knew exactly what Washington was asking about, but hoped playing dumb might drive him away from wanting to ask him _why._

"Back on Chorus...you took our side." Washington seemed to choose his wording with caution, but he could catch a hint of annoyance ghosting his tone, his arms crossed securely over his chest. 

Apparently he wasn't buying it; Locus and dumb were near antonyms after all.

Locus only nodded in confirmation to be further avoidant, gaze trained on the blond. His eyes only drifted away to him hearing Caboose scribbling doodles on the notepad from the hotel he allowed him to just take to draw on, along with the pen. It benefited everyone if he was just kept occupied. The slips with notes were pocketed anyways and he could find a new medium to house his thoughts later.

"Why?" Washington pushed the question forward again after the context on what he meant. 

"We didn't see eye to eye." It was a roundabout truth, vaguely using _we_ , but what he meant seemed to get across fine. Didn't seem to be a good enough answer though.

"Not seeing eye to eye doesn't usually mean one just leaves a... friend? Buddy?-"

"Partner." 

_Partner_ worked fine. Locus could tell the usually grey and yellow armored man avoided the name _Felix_ like the plague. He couldn't exactly blame him.

"Right. I'm not going to push you further for answers, just had us all confused when you showed up and…y'know." Washington trailed off in his words. Again, Locus noticed the avoidance of directly mentioning certain details. Names. As if he'd lose his shit at the reminder; he knew if he was going to do that, he would've lost it a week or so ago from the constant reminders he got already. Maybe he was already far gone, just far too tired to realise or care.

Part of him was tempted to call Washington out for walking on eggshells to a noticeable degree, but decided against it as he saw the former agent shift his weight from one foot to the other in apprehension at his far too long pause. Even conversation felt tactical after so long of everything being seen that way, even though Locus wasn't much for words. That was Felix's thing. 

"Back on Chorus, that alien AI-"

"Oh, Santa!" Caboose cut in. Turns out he had been listening at least somewhat despite his oblivious look and his incessant scribbling. Didn't matter to Locus anyways. 

"Yes...Santa." Locus only verbally acknowledged him once, before turning back to the conversation he was initially in. "I'm certain you're familiar with the trial in one of the towers. During Chorus I had wondered what Felix's was about, what he feared. I found out just previous to the last confrontation."

There was a noticeable adverse reaction, Wash's features twinging and hiding a grimance, at the now dead mercenary's name. Locus internally ached in the recesses of his chest when he mentioned it himself, but it was all too familiar of a motion to keep a straight face and brush it off.

"Well?"

"He feared me." Locus felt a vile taste rise in his throat, tearing his line of sight away and back to the bag. "So he kept me in a position where it benefited him most."

He just hoped the other got what he meant and wouldn't press him for more answers. The softening just barely visible on Washington's features was sickening, he was not wanting of pity of any degree. At least Locus knew he got the message, but he felt regret in disclosing such information.

"Overall, a culmination of things. A large part in my decision was thinking about myself and my own ideologies. How I'm not the soldier I thought I was. I had to rethink my view of myself." He spoke plainly, watching carefully to the other's reactions. Locus considered Washington, unlike himself, to be a good person. Even if he disliked the conflicted look creeping in on his face and the pity rolling off him in waves, it showed he was a _good_ person. That gave him an inkling of hope.

Locus questioned himself; why he was saying anything and if he really was comfortable disclosing this. He figured that perhaps Washington was just...gathering intel while he wasn't as coherent as he usually was, to put it simply, using the fact he had just crashed in a ship and he likely wasn't 100% better yet to ask him whatever. That thought wasn't expanded upon.

"Don't pity me. I've come to terms with most of it," Locus finally muttered, which wasn't truthful, but he couldn't stand the sympathy.

The way Washington stilled and his shoulders tensed, as if being caught off guard for an emotion even he didn't realise, was almost amusing. Almost. The silence following felt cathartic. Turns out peeling back that hardened skin a bit and pouring out a bit of your true thoughts to someone a month ago you were trying to kill was all too comforting. It didn't last for long.

"How did you two meet then? I heard bits and pieces of what Kimball said and what they all were told, but I'm guessing it wasn't all that truthful," Washington inquired, arm motioning out the door at the word _they_ , supposedly to the vague direction of the Sim Troopers.

Locus still noticed that he tip-toed around the subject. 

There was a distinct pause in words between them, the former space pirate weighing his options and debating internally again on if he should be sharing so much. He didn't fully trust these people, but their intentions were already known and while it was to keep him prisoner until they could throw him to be torn apart by the collective anger of Chorus. There was no indication of ulterior motives, though he didn't think they could really formulate that sort of plan. All the thinking made his brain more foggy than it already had been, so he gave in more.

"It was mostly true," Locus finally responded right when Washington was seeming to just take what he pulled from their prisoner and not push him. "From what I remember of what Felix offered as a cover story and I approved, it was mostly true."

He outstretched his legs gradually, heels teetering on the floor beneath them and most of his weight falling back on his hands as he sat. 

"We met in the Great War. Never liked each other," he continued, a noticeable amuse twitching in his brow and the corner of his lips for a second at the thought. Washington was caught off guard by this even slight show of emotion, but tried (and failed) to hide it, whether it was to not piss off Locus or to not be rude. Or both.

"Then how'd you become partners?" 

Locus could tell the other was getting more comfortable with verbally poking and prodding him with, silly in his opinion, inquiries. Though he guessed talking about things came with an oddly and increasingly gratifying feeling on his end. 

"We were rivals during the war, though it was mostly harmless. It wasn't until we _had_ to, during one of the worst battles of that war, that we worked together to survive. And seeing as I'm still here, we worked together fine," he cautiously continued, the taste of bile in his throat as he recollected on the time. 

His hands clenched ever so slightly as he pushed memories away out of habit, though he quickly found himself at a tug of war with his mind to keep it within reach, but not close enough to completely overwhelm him and not far enough to be completely stored away. It wasn't easy with the onslaught of flashbacks. Externally he looked fine, other than maybe a blank stare and clenched fists.

"Hey!" The bubbly voice of Caboose forced its way to Locus' ears, attention quickly drawn from his perilous thoughts. Washington seemed he was going to ask or say something before the usually blue armored one interrupted. 

Well his attention was caught. 

Once Caboose could tell he held the other's attention, he shoved the notepad back into his hands. A crudely drawn image of his armor (it was clearly _his_ , though some of the details were off or left out; he didn't comment on it) and the word _Lokus_ (the k was backwards, but he didn't mention it either nor the misspelling) was scribbled onto the page on the top. A few of the pages of the notepad had been obviously torn haphazardly out, leaving flaps of paper with uneven edges at the binding at the top. Some crumpled up paper sitting where Caboose had sat and worked on his masterpiece was further evidence to that.

In his mind it felt frivolous, childish. Like a waste of time. But, Locus found it oddly... touching and he very much enjoyed the little imperfect gift.

He could feel eyes on him as he held the notepad, while his calculating gaze examined over the piece. One set of eyes was expectant of an answer, looking at him in wait of approval. The other _dared_ him to even _think_ about give even the slightest of criticisms, that he'd end up regretting ever crashing on Iris. And Locus knew full well the person with ladder gaze would most definitely make his time here worse if he hurt Caboose. 

He had to admire that dedication and protectiveness that Washington held with his teammates.

"It's adequate. Thank you," Locus responded with a curt nod, swallowing a nervous, but _eased_ breath. 

The ungraceful strokes of the pen messily outlining him and his 'name' had actually distracted him from spiraling thoughts. He was grateful for that and held no intentions for being disapproving of it. 

"No problem! You can keep it in your pocket for sad days. Only if you want to though," was quick to respond Caboose. 

Locus only gave a nod as he carefully tugged and separated the piece of paper from the pad. Setting it beside him, he handed back the now tool of artistry to Caboose, who scooted back to his spot of sitting beside the wall. Washington seemed content by his response to the gift too, so that was a plus. 

Locus didn't say much else and Washington didn't pry further the rest of the hour left. The rest of that story would have to wait.

  
  


The rest of his time was spent just examining the room. It looked to be an extra bedroom, adorned with the basic furnishings of a bed, desk, dresser, and nightstand. He didn't know if it was really an extra bedroom or just someone's who was given up to keep him trapped. Why they even gave him a _bedroom_ out of all the rooms they could have stuck him in was above him. Though, he definitely didn't question it as it was decidedly better than a closet or other confined space.

After the hour left ran out, the group of two keeping an eye on him changed to Grif and Simmons next, who were clearly not too keen on the task. Simmons was a total _kiss ass_ though, so usually just did as he was told when told to do something by Sarge, who Locus suspected either gave them this duty in order to push off his own responsibility onto them. Grif however…certainly showed his disdain of the order less subtly. 

"Dude, he isn't even _doing_ anything, he hasn't even talked, I think he's asleep. Just let me go get a quick snack real quick, I'll even share when I get back," the orange armored man scowled, meaning to be quiet and thinking their prisoner couldn't hear as he laid back on the bed, arms up behind his head.

Locus still heard.

"But with one of us away he could easily overpower us and escape! Also bullshit. You say that, you _always_ say that, but either just never return when walking away from anything we have to do or you don't even share like you say," Simmons murmured back.

The former space pirate didn't know whether to find everyone's caution and fear still permeating in their minds patronizing or amusing. Either way, analyzing the conversation along with previous ones he had heard at the crash site led him to believe them to have _some_ sort of connection that surpassed platonic, no matter if it was recognized or not.

 _Like a bickering old married couple._ He felt a dryness in his throat at the thought and how he subconsciously compared them to, well-

"No this time I will come back."

"What if you don't and I'm stuck alone with...with…"

" I won't leave you alone with _Darth Locus_ for more than like, five minutes." Grif's joking comparison of a nickname seemed to draw out a humored grin out of Simmons for a moment.

"If I was going to hurt either of you and escape, I would've already," the topic of their conversation chimed in abruptly with that characteristically monotonous and chilling tone. "Five minutes would be enough time anways." 

The two froze, hair bristling on the back of their necks as their attention snapped onto Locus as they knew he had been able to hear them. Locus, the intimidating bastard, just laid there still relaxed. A sliver of guilt set in as he opened his eyes and saw them still as statues. 

_Do I have to explain every single time that I'm not out to kill anyone?_ As much as he knew it'd be easier and that is was a near want for him, Locus obviously refrained.

Still laid on the bed, he figured that he should perhaps _try_ to ease any tensions between him and the rest of the group.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he clarified bluntly, satisfied when he watched the two eased. Even if he wanted to make an escape, he'd have to likely bash a few heads in the process and there wasn't even any ships he could use to get off Iris. "Retrieve your food, I won't escape." 

All that he got in response was a wary stare from one and a nod from the other, Grif then whispering something _now_ unable to be heard by Locus. He walked with hesitation away and out the door of the bedroom, leaving Simmons. The man looked like the walking definition of apprehension right now, trying to keep his gaze avoidant while simultaneously trying to keep watch of him. There was an air of trepidation and curiosity surrounding the cyborg man, as if having a million questions, but was too afraid to-

"Why did you become a _space pirate?_ A..A mercenary? Whatever you call yourself." 

_More questions. Unfortunate._

Locus huffed out quietly, toying with the idea of just... _not responding_ . It seemed easier, but also he wouldn't make any progress with gaining their trust. _Trust_ ...wasn't exactly what he was expecting though. _We don't want you dead and we don't think you'll murder us in our sleep_ would be good enough. 

"Called," he replied.

"...Called?"

"I _called_ myself a soldier. A mercenary or space pirate _was_ a truthful label as well. I guess." 

"Oh. So they really weren't lying when they said you had quit the whole _doing bad shit for money_ thing," Simmons mumbled, moreso in thought to himself.

"It was all I was able or knew how to do." Locus explained shortly, shifting on the bed to sit up. 

It dawned on him how much he had been laying or sitting about that day. What a waste. Then again, it wasn't like he had many options. And Simmons seemed to not want to pull anymore information out as to not test his luck and refrained from speaking more. 

Grif came back seven minutes later, his maroon armored companion growing nervous as he thought he had really left him alone with the daunting _Darth Locus_ . But no, he did come back with a bag crinkling annoyingly in the crook of his arm and cans of something balanced in his hands. _Three_ cans. 

"Hey, man... you want one?" 

It was some sugar filled carbonated beverage held out to him (the irrational intrusive thought of it being poisoned poked at him initially before he chased it off), Locus then reaching and taking it to be courteous. The aluminium felt cold in his calloused hand, looking it over for a few seconds before popping it open by the tab with his thumb.

"Thank you," he replied and took a sip of it. 

Usually he wasn't fond of such sickly sweet drinks, but it was alright. It was some orange flavored soda.

The moment of appreciation of silence and high fructose corn syrup manufactured to resemble oranges in taste was cut short, the sound of plastic squeaking invading his ears. Grif fumbled open the bag and in dove his hand, stuffing some of the chips past his lips. And as he said, he shared with Simmons, though still somewhat hoarded it. 

For a bit, Locus just ignored them conversing over whatever and read absentmindedly over the label. He had no intention of including himself, fine to sit back and sip at the fizzy drink. The prominence of _orange_ , orange armor and orange drink, left an empty pit in his stomach though. 

The next duo to watch him came by when the suns were starting to pass over the horizon, orange and red light filtering in through the windows. Swapped out with Grif and Simmons, was Donut and Lopez. He didn't interact much with them and the usually pink armored one busied himself with something akin to embroidery. Along with them was some sort of dinner brought. This pair was unsurprising, as they seemed to get responsibilities pushed onto them often as well, especially the robot. Locus pretended not to understand any remarks made in spanish he overheard every so often in response to an obliviously provocative quip. 

The two just stood outside the door this time around, it seemed they trusted him enough to give him some space when guarding. He wouldn't blame them if they also just wanted to avoid him in general and saw a better alternative.

The next few days were a repeat of this. Sometimes they'd interact with increasing ease with him, sometimes he'd walk around the room. At least they let him shower and use the bathroom for whatever else he needed. In fact, it had been _way_ easier than Locus was used to in his day to day life. Hell, they even gave him meals (albeit depending on who cooked usually determined how good it was); like they'd give him proper meals instead of slop if he went to prison. Sure, being cooped up and having to gauge what was going on outside based on the various crashes or yelling that sometimes accompanied their antics during retirement wasn't ideal, it wasn't necessarily bad. Neither were the people keeping him there.

  
  


When he woke the third morning (or maybe noon, the suns were certainly high for morning and it felt like he had just hibernated through an entire winter), he found it had seemingly cycled to being Tucker and someone else he couldn't see through the half shut door.

"No. No fucking way. We are _not_ doing that," Tucker declined what seemed to be some sort of proposal. "What happened to the _two people shifts guarding him_ thing? I think that's worked fine so far."

"I just think it'd be easier. We still keep an eye on him obviously, but where is he going to go? Both us and him no way out of here at the moment until the next shipment of supplies comes in." Ah, Washington. 

It surprised Locus to see Washington advocating for something a bit more in the ex-merc's favor. 

With a stretch and a few pops of his joints, he stood from the bed. He must have been _exhausted_ to just have fallen asleep, the fact he slept when there were people just outside the door was even more surprising. Usually he only slept when he was on his own (or maybe once upon a time when he was next to a certain someone) and he was certain of no danger. But he slept the best he had in awhile. He thought that perhaps it was just him recovering still? 

_Huh._

Locus quietly walked closer to the door; for such a broad man, he could have an incredibly light step when he needed. Likely from years of practice in stealth.

"If we just let him roam, what's stopping him from just killing us and stealing a ride when those supplies come in? And then what?" Tucker retorted in a hushed voice. 

"I think he's _trying_ to be someone who wouldn't do that."

"You think?"

"Okay, I _know."_ Washington huffed slightly. 

There was a bout of silence, before a defeated sigh resounded. Locus felt he had a decent enough understanding of their debate. It made him wonder if Washington still pitied him or not from what he said.

He silently pulled the door open, feeling like a shadow as he failed to get their attention.

"Fine, but if he slits my throat in the middle of the night, I'm going to come back to life somehow and slit yours, dude." Tucker jabbed at Washington's chest with a finger; the comment was joking in nature, that fact reinforced with a single chuckle hinting after his words. 

"Deal." Washington murmured back with a smile. 

Locus felt awkward just standing there, blending into the surroundings. It was like a second nature to him, sure, to listen in on conversations and spy and sneak about, but it felt wrong considering who it was. Clearing his throat to gain their attention, the two's gazes snapped somewhat behind them to the source of the sound.

"Holy fuck, do you have to lurk?" Tucker exasperated, turning on his heel to better face him. 

"I apologize, I'll refrain from it," Locus replied; he likely would still do it out of habit. 

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough. I'll… try my best to refrain from slitting your throat in the middle of the night," Locus mused sarcastically. 

It took a moment to register that his comment was a joke. A joke that was maybe not delivered with the best tone, one calm and deep and lacking much emotion, one that took a moment to decipher by those not able to read his demeanour, but a _joke_ nevertheless. It baffled Washington and, even more, Tucker. It baffled Locus how easily he said it too. 

_They're rubbing off on me…_ He didn't know whether to feel negatively or positively towards this. 

"Appreciate it," Tucker responded with as much grace as a foal, the amused-surprised shock subsiding. 

Then he sucked in a breath and sharply exhaled, continuing with,"This will be just until we get that shipment and can find a way to get you to Chorus. Or if we manage to fix one of the ships or a com tower, but I mean, _c'mon_ like that'll happen before we get the next shipment."

"I figured so." Locus knew there was no way off currently unless he managed to fix and steal a ship. Part of him wanted to do that, but he'd have to crack a few skulls in order to even be able to do so. He'd just have to be patient and see. And it's fair to say he's a patient person. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated! ♡


	8. UPDATE

Author Note

I'll delete this chapter once I update this again, but basically kind of got distracted from this for a good bit. I will be finishing up a chapter Ive had sitting in my documents for a good amount of time, as well going through and editing some of the chapters for any grammar errors and to perhaps fix some wonky sentences. 

I had fun writing this and really want to continue, I just have the memory of a goldfish and the attention span of a rock lmao. So yeah expect another chapter here soon. Thanks!


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